The Foxhole Program
by Tori-Da-Mutt
Summary: When Hydra Programs go rogue, they have an Asset to bring them in. The Foxhole Program, untouched for over thirty years, has a new assignment, and it does not fail. [Post-TWS, Bucky is on the run, Steve and friends are looking for him, and the Foxhole Asset is after them both.] Or, the time I made another story when I had ten others in progress.
1. Chapter 1

She was a sweet girl, according to her teachers. A bit off in the head, couldn't act like a lady to save her life, but kind enough and stood up for other students. It wasn't often that she actually got into fights, but when she did it was quite alarming. They'd never seen a girl who could be so vicious.

She sat in the doctors office stubbornly silent, a black eye and a bruised cheek and a busted lip and blood staining her face from her nose to her chin, though the bleeding had stopped. Her parents were frazzled, talking to the doctor in mostly coherent sentences- they didn't have any idea what had come over her, only that one minute she was beside them, helping with the shopping, and then suddenly she was fist-to-fist against a man only a bit older than she was and there was blood and oh doctor couldn't they _do something_ to fix their little girl who didn't seem to understand that she was a girl?

Nurse Maryanne Fenton looked over the papers in her hands, all the information about the girl listed neatly in boxes. "I'll have to speak with her to know what I'm dealing with," she began, "but I may know of a program that could help. Still being tested, but we can do so free of charge."

The girls mother fluttered her hands about nervously. "I just don't know what to do with her."

"Then we'll do everything we can."

She opened the door, leaving the worried, tired parents outside. The girl looked up to see her with her not-swollen eye, and she smiled carefully. "Hello, dear," she greeted. "I'm Nurse Fenton. I'm here to treat you."

The girl dipped her head, then offered a hand, the knuckles scraped and bloody. "I'm Alice Donnover. A pleasure to meet you, m'am."

"And you, dear." Fenton sat on her stool and leaned in closer to get a good look at the injuries she sported. "Your parents tell me you're almost twenty-one."

"Yes, m'am, a month from now." Alice didn't flinch away while Fenton prodded, despite the grimace that told her she'd like to.

"Can you tell me how all this happened?"

"I was shopping with Mom, and I saw this guy in the aisle I was supposed to get some stuff from trying to get grabby with some girl there with him. I broke it up so she could leave, and he tried flirting with me, so I told him to shut his yap. Then he tried to get grabby, so I hit him, 'n then he hit back, an' next thing I know Mom 'n Dad are dragging me out and bringing me here."

"Seems like he had it coming, then." Fenton looked over the girl head to toe with quick motions while she talked, making sure the only damages were superficial. "Why didn't you just call for your father? I'm sure he could have handled the problem. Or even store security."

"I didn't do nothin' any good person wouldn't have. An' I can handle myself."

"Do you get in fights a lot?"

"Only when they deserve it."

They continued on, Fenton asking questions and Alice answering them with as little of an answer as she could, until all the girls wounds were patched up and ice-packed and Fenton was satisfied that she knew enough.

Leaving Alice in the office, Fenton returned to the Donnover parents, putting on her serious face. "I won't lie, her mental state is a bit twisted. She seems to be utterly convinced that she is as good at fighting as men, and she mentioned that she'd apply for the military if they'd take her." The mother sucked in a sharp breath. "I believe the program I mentioned before could help her. I'll need you two to sign her release, if you're willing. We might be able to fix this before it gets to the point she tries to do anything extreme."

They agreed foolishly quickly, Fenton thought to herself, watching a few feet away while they signed all the required forms, and then she was promising them that their daughter would be back in two months, when she was better. They looked at her gratefully, like she'd just pulled them from a fire, and she smiled in reply. Alice was being prepped for the trip by a doctor, who would then leave it to Fenton to get her traveling. Alice was told that there was a way she could join the war effort the way she wanted to, and her warm brown eyes sparkled as she loaded willingly into the truck for travel.

In two days time, a letter was sent to her parents, informing them that the truck Alice had been traveling in had been in a terrible accident, and their daughter was dead. In two weeks, She was approved for testing Hydra's new derivative of the supersoldier serum(it had taken a lot of arguing, a lot of weight-throwing, and a lot of influential pull to convince them that this girl was the best option for the test, but by god, Fenton was not going to let their program exclude her and hers again). In a month, they determined that the new serum was not as successful as they had hoped, but not a failure, and the subject had shown impressive skillsets, so they continued with their work. Fenton took control over what was named The Foxhole Program, watching over the operations and adjustments and giving the go-ahead for anything that needed approval. Two months, and Alice Donnover was buried in her hometown with a small gathering of family. The Foxhole Program thrived.

* * *

_My name is Alice. I was born and raised in Albany, New York. I have two sisters and a brother. I was kidnapped for some sort of secret government program-_

Pain. Burning. Static.

_My name is Alice. I was born and raised in Albany, New York. I have two sisters and a brother. I was kidnapped-_

Pain. Cold. Static.

_My name... is... Alice. I was Born and raised... in... in... in New York. I have... two sisters. And a Brother._

Pain. Heaviness. Static.

_My name is... Alice. I... have a brother. I have..._

Pain. Heaviness. Cold. Static.

_My name is Alice._

Pain.

_My name... is Alice._

Cold.

_My name... is... Alice._

Weight.

_My... My name is... Alice._

Static.

_My... name..._

* * *

I am Fox. I am a weapon. I take orders, follow through, and ask no questions. I am unstoppable.

* * *

Two years of intensive training went into the Foxhole Program, to bring it up to speed with the other Assets Hydra had accumulated. It's skills were not needed as often once the Winter Soldier Program came into full effect. The Asset was put on ice.

Seventy years later, the Winter Soldier Program went rogue. After a frantic scramble to erect some framework for their organization, the Foxhole Program was reactivated.

* * *

The lights were too bright. They always were. It caused a discomfort in Fox's eyes, but it stared ahead without blinking, waiting for it's handler to arrive. They never used the same handler twice. Two guards stood at attention, firearms held tightly and aimed directly for it's face. It stayed silent.

The door opened, and a thick-set man approached, sitting in front of Fox and placing a file on the table between them among the weapons and tools placed carefully over the silver surface. "Your mission is hunt down a rogue program. You are to find it, disable it, and wait for an extraction team. Checkpoints are set every Seventy-two hours. Any late checkpoints will be assumed disobeying orders. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He turned the file towards it, pushing it closer as permission to open it. "You have one hour to prepare. A drop team will take you to the rogue programs last known location."

The handler left, the two guards resumed their security measures, and Fox opened the file. A picture, sketches of possible minor changes to appearance, programming information, patterns, and finally, in a sealed bag, a scrap of fabric. The bag was packed away in a pocket, then it retrieved and mounted all its weapons on its person. The guards escorted in to the drop team, who in turn loaded it on the plane.

"Asset is secure, let's go!"

The plane jolted, then launched, eventually settling with minimal turbulence. The drop team continued to secure the cargo bay. It sat silently, perched on a box in place of a seat. Static hummed in the right side of it's face, followed by an update to the mission on the optic screen embedded in it's eye. _::Secondary target- if found, detain or destroy as necessary.:: _A list of information followed, scrolling as it memorized the secondary. _::If not discovered, await extract for primary target then proceed for secondary. Preferred state of Secondary is capture.::_

It didn't need to respond- orders were orders and would be executed to the best of available ability. The trail was already a week old. There was no margin for error.


	2. Chapter 2

The drop team was skittish.

It was a passing observation, barely even registering, but it was important information. Skittish meant they might overreact, prematurely switch plans, abandon their post or their duty entirely. Skittish meant erroneous. Skittish was a dangerous variable. Their inherent threat was etched in the creases of worry on their faces, in the tension that held their weapons ready, in the quick glances they tried to be sneaky about when they measured up the asset. Fox would have frowned- they had never assigned it a drop team with so little experience that they were liable to shoot it before the mission even began- but it was not to question decisions. It kept quite and still, telegraphing it's intent when it needed to do anything, even just shift to maintain bloodflow and keep ready for any possible situation. In return, the skittish drop team didn't put a bullet in it.

_"Approaching the landing zone. Prepare to disembark." _The speakers were unsettlingly low quality- it seemed they had pulled together this team and all it's supplies from whatever they could find. The situation must be worse than was implied during it's prep and briefing. More information that needed to be filed away and factored in.

The plane began it's descent, bumping and bouncing along the way in minor turbulence that made the drop team jolt and jittery, and Fox was more careful about shifting. It's left leg was starting to tingle, but a half-numb leg was better than a bleeding wound. The underlings in the drop team passed jokes back and forth for a bit, and it seemed for a moment or two that they calmed some, before their leader barked at them to keep their focus on the mission and they went silent, the skittish etchings fading back into play. Fox did frown now- they needed focus, but they needed to not panic in the middle of a basic extraction, too. It shouldn't have been so difficult for them to make a balance of focus and calm. It had certainly never had trouble of it's own.

The plane bumped the ground and the back hatch light flashed to life, bathing them all in red light. The leader of the drop team- it's temporary handler for the first Seventy-two hours until the first checkpoint- waved his hand about in unacceptably sloppy signals, but the others picked up on it easily enough, and Fox moved to the back hatch, aware of but not acknowledging the barrels of guns aimed at it's back. The locks holding the hatch in place creaked and groaned as they were pried out of place, then the hatch was slowly opening, revealing the ground still moving along beneath them at approximately twenty miles an hour(slightly more than twenty-two, to be precise, but it was close enough that the drop team wouldn't know the difference.) Fox was very sensitive to the twitchings of the team behind it, but it waited at the edge of the hatch until the old speakers burst out "_tuck and roll team" _and then it lurched foreward into the air between the tiny plane and the grassy land below._  
_

Something twitched in the depths of it's brain- there was something about this feeling, the freefall before it landed, that felt strange. Not familiar, or even vaguely like a memory, but there was something about the sensation. It couldn't even recall a word for the feeling. Perhaps there wasn't one. It lasted a full second before it filed the thought away as a result of the chemicals and hormones in it's body causing paranoia and arced carefully as it neared the ground, turning into a carefully perfect roll, then skidding over the grass on it's knees for a few feet until the momentum was gone. The drop team landed in a sloppy line with Fox at the point, and it frowned again. Very sloppy. Perhaps they were testing it's response to variables in familiar situations. It made more sense than the possibility that Hydra was truely in shambles enough that this was all they could spare for the mission.

It waited silently for the drop team to reassemble, grumbling and wincing and a couple huffing and puffing, waited without moving while it's handler gave the underlings specific jobs for their stint of the mission, arms waving and spit flying and eyes bright and violent, walked unflinchingly towards the precise coordinates they had for the target's last known position, then finally- _finally, finally- _turned the reins over to it and let it do what it had been created to do.

Sharp eyes scanned the scenery, taking in all the details of what had been happening there over the past week, grinding down the newer additions and pacing around the space and clarifying the image in it's mind until it was down to the bare bones of the situation that had led to the program going rogue. There was a cacophony of footprints from several dozen different shoes and people, and fading marks where something heavy had been dragged from the water and onto the banks. It analyzed this area more closely, because if the rogue program had left any signs of it's direction it would be here, and by some very small chance there was a faint series of boot prints in the mud and dirt, almost trampled into nonexistence by the other prints and marks and the wear of nature but familiar enough because it was the standard issue tread for assets- a somewhat larger version of the boots Fox wore, and with as little hesitation as possible it followed the scuffs and imprints and trampled plantlife along the bank of the water for a ways. The drop team followed behind it as quickly as they could, louder than any team it had dealt with before and almost distracting.

A full mile along, the trail twisted and for a few minutes, Fox lost the lead, and stood silent and still, analyzing the area for another clue to continue the trek. When, after a thorough search, nothing was pointing them onward, it edged closer to the early-morning streets, scanning the buildings from cover. It was a small conglomeration of shops, mostly. The most prominent was a small sells-all store, and after a long glare, it's handler gave the go-ahead to move closer and investigate.

It pulled a coat close over the sheaths and pockets of weapons in it's armor before emerging from the brush and moving down the street. There weren't many people out, only a scattering over the streets in either direction, and therefore very little to base interactions on; Fox determined the best method would be to avoid direct interaction and adjust as necessary. No one looked at it twice as it slunk into the store, head down and face away from any potential cameras, and no one tried to stop it from walking tightly through the aisles. From the front of the store back, it passed a small cluster of clothes racks, followed by five and a half aisles of necessities that one may need for cooking, or cleaning, or maintaining a car, or going out into the woods, then by three and a half aisles of canned and boxed foods, with a refrigerated section that covered the entire back wall. A store, smaller than a supermarket, that sold things made to last and protect.

It wasn't until it passed a section of boxes that claimed to hold all the necessities for a stint in the wilds(excluding food, defined the fine print) that it was sure the rogue program had been there. Only one box was missing from the neat line-up, on the end, where it would be least noticeable. After a moment of analyzing it and mentally cataloging all the supplies it had been given, the asset grabbed a box for itself, hunting through the aisles for a hiking backpack, then doubling back to the food aisles for a cache of non-military-issue MREs, gliding through the checkout without flinching.

"There's a table near the doors, if you'd like to pack everything in the backpack instead of carrying it all home first," the cashier informed it. Fox watched him cautiously for a moment, and when he showed no signs of hostility or anything more than mild interest, it nodded, touching it's chin to sign 'thank you' silently. It wasn't authorized to speak with anyone outside of the drop team and it's superiors. The cashier smiled, showing off many white teeth. "It's no problem, m'am."

Fox moved to the table mentioned, internally criticizing him. It was not a 'm'am.' Everything was swiftly packed away in the backpack, which was them slung over the coat. The packaging from the supplies was buried quietly beneath a pile of other trash from people who had bought things and used the table to pack it away before Fox had come, ensuring that there was minimal proof of it's existence, then it left, returning to the drop team. One of them supplied a map, and with only two minutes spent pouring over it, Fox marked off the places most likely to appeal to the rogue program. It had purchased survival gear, things for hiking and surviving in potentially forested area, meaning it was planning to go off grid, most likely to avoid detection by satellites or cameras.

"God damn," the Lead Handler grumbled. "He's had enough time to get to any of these!"

Fox internally disapproved. This drop team was very, very skittish.


	3. Chapter 3

It took ten minutes of Fox meticulously going over the bank to find another hint of the rogue program. It was so small, so faded, so close to the water and half washed away the fox nearly missed it, even though this was what it was made to do, what it did better than anyone, but the edge of a boot print was enough. Yes, the rogue had come back across the road and into the brush, out of sight. It remembered the racks of clothes- the rogue had probably completely changed their uniform, a sure-fire way to make sure there were no trackers or bugs that could be used to monitor them. The boots had probably been the next thing to go.

An underling of the drop team found one of the boots further along, caught on the rocks in the water. Not far away, there were more footprints, these ones with different tread and likely made with on-foot travel in mind. The tracks were the right size, and headed in the right direction for the asset getting away from the starting coordinates. But the trail ended at the sidewalk, where the odds of finding more hints or clues dropped to barely a fraction of what it was- which wasn't very promising from the start.

The drop team shuffled uneasily, but didn't move to stop it as Fox stepped onto the sidewalk. After all, this was what it had been created for, what it was best at. Tracking. Hunting.

Some deep part of it's brain took over. A few thoughts drifted near the surface, calculations and observations about the world, but the majority of it was so subtle, so instinctive, so silent and fast that it didn't register what it was thinking until the thoughts had flown past. The set-up of the buildings on the street, the direction and strength of the breeze, the flow of pedestrians and the flow of traffic and the flow of the water behind the team and the clues around them of Cardinal directions and common paths, all calculated and analyzed and slotted into the mental picture without hesitation or conscious effort.

After a moment, it felt the faint tug it had come to recognize during training. They had a direction.

It reported this to it's temporary handler, who swore and directed the rest of the team to hide their weapons. "Stealth is priority," he barked at them, and Fox watched them go through the motions, packing their more obvious guns in their packs, pulling jackets over their Kevlar and holsters until they looked passable as 'not assassins,' until it's handler gave it the go ahead to start following the pull that had gotten minutely more insistent as it stood there waiting.

In it's head, it watched a simulated path. The Rogue stepped out of the cover of the brush, glancing about subtly, everything indefinite except it's height and it's shoe size, leaving faint prints on the sidewalk in it's head, before turning and walking quickly away from the scene, falling into the mess of pedestrians and blending in like they had both been trained. Rogue moved along easily, slipping through a faceless crowd, head tilted down away from any cameras that might be in the area. Fox followed easily, with no crowd to speak of but the group in step behind it. Several blocks away, the mental vision stuttered to a pause, the mental picture of the Rogue freezing in place, and it did the same in real life. Fox's eyes opened wider, and it scanned the area again.

They were in a busier area now. More people clogged the streets, and cars were parked at every open space. A police officer patrolled nearby, nodding greetings to everyone he passed. A gaggle of teen girls giggled as they tottered down the street in heels, pecking at phones and sipping from Styrofoam cups. A man who looked in his early thirties was putting up flyers, a stapler balanced on the stack of papers in his arms. A mother lifted her toddler from the street, grumbling about street cleaners not doing their jobs.

It moved towards where the mother had been subtly, scanning the ground. A small mess of shattered glass was scattered over the pavement- 1/6 inch, untinted, tempered. It matched the standard for a car window. The rogue had stolen a car.

It's handler made a disgruntled face when it passed on the information, waving one of the underlings to start a search on car thefts reported on the date the rogue went missing, narrowing down the area. A list of four vehicles was brought up, and Fox took the tablet thrust it's way in stride, tapping each one for details. A 2010 Challenger, A 2014 Charger, an unspecified 2004 Mercedez-

_That one. _The Handler looked over the profile for the stolen vehicle, nodding slowly. "Fits. Inconspicuous, reasonably common, old." He focused on Fox again. "So where'd he go, tracker? A week's long enough to get anywhere he wanted to and dig in."

It pulled up the map that had been marked with potential hideouts, and after a moment of rapid-fire calculations and superimposition of that mental picture, it slowly tapped on one of the marked positions- more of a streak, an area that covered most of western Nebraska and parts of Colorado and Wyoming.

One of the underlings scratched his beard, glancing at it and the Handler. "That ain't exactly a small area, you know."

The Handler glared at him. "Then we'd better get moving."

Underling grumbled a bit more. "I'm just saying, alright? You sure she knows what she's doing?"

"The asset has yet to fail. It's training was considerably more extensive than your own, so shut up and check if we can get a pick up or if we're on our own."

* * *

It took Fourteen hours, thirty-four minutes to arrive at the edge of the target area, so long as the small clock embedded in it's optical array was accurate. The drop team convinced the plane that had dropped them off at the location to land for a hit-and-run pick-up in the same grassy area where they'd made ground, despite Fox's report that it was an unnecessary waste of resources. Unspoken was the calculation that the drop team wasn't efficient enough as a unit to pull off such a quick pick-up. But it's Handler agreed that it was a the quickest way to catch up with their target.

Perched on a crate that held no apparent purpose other from being a perch, it watched and listened to their planning. It's handler had told it to avoid making the team uneasy, then specified that it should keep a distance when possible and not stare, and so it offered no input for their plans or solutions to problems they had not anticipated but it couldn't avoid pointing out, even if only to itself. Instead it planned it's actions in response to the teams failings when those problems arose. It didn't calculate good odds of finding the rogue asset before the team was recalled, which would work for the better, because they were unskilled enough that the rogue would know of their presence long before Fox had any chance of detaining it. Yes, it would be best for it to continue this mission alone.

As they neared the new drop zone, it's Handler spread out a map of the area and started to divide it into sections, instructing each member of the group where they would be in formation. Fox was set to point, where it would have the easiest time sensing any presence not their own. Like a bloodhound, one of the underlings stated. Fox disagreed- bloodhounds were not nearly as lethal as it was.

On the ground, the wooded range was quiet. The drop team took five minutes longer than any team it had used before to ready for the hike; it calculated that they would need to rest within two hours of sundown. A waste of time. It knew the exact amount of time it could remain active before fatigue affected it's abilities- Ninety-six hours at this level, down to just under Seventy-five with previous activity considered- and beyond that how long it could remain active before rest was a necessity(One-sixty-eight hours total) and this team would not last long under even half of that time.

This was relayed to it's Handler when the rest of the team was occupied; this was an important factor to the mission. Lost time meant a chance that the rogue program would catch on and run, which meant a further waste of resources, and it had been trained very thoroughly on efficiency. The Handler gave it a look and warned it to focus on keeping the mission active and less on the problems it seemed determined to find.

It was capable of another seventy-four hours of activity when the team began combing the wood.


	4. Chapter 4

At the end of the drop teams stint with it- to the first check-in, seventy-two hours into the mission- only twenty-two percent of the suspect area had been combed. Fox accepted it's newest update to orders- complete all objectives, collateral damage not limited- and kept it's head bowed submissively until the plane was off the ground and the Handler no longer close enough for his dominance to be applied, then immediately set off to continue the search. Calculations stated that it could increase the percentage covered to twenty-nine before sundown, thirty-six without breaks for refueling.

In the back of it's head, a small voice was whispering, _tick-tock, tick-tock, I'm a clock. _It wasn't familiar, the voice, or the saying, but it didn't matter. There was work to be done.

* * *

Sixty-four percent of the open wood had been put behind it with no sign of anything but the animals that lived there before it spotted the first clue. Ten days after the mission start, two more checkpoints down, and the clue is a thin, clear line stretched between two trees, one end tied tight around a trunk and the other stretching off to another tree, then to another, then finally up to a limb, seven feet off the ground, where it was connected to a six-inch line of little silver bells. A crude sort of alarm, it decided, and carefully stepped over the line so as to keep it's presence hidden. It watched everything more closely now- if the rogue had even sense of purpose to rig alarms, possibly lethal traps weren't much of a stretch.

This proved true about five yards west, where another line had been rigged, close to the ground, tied to a branch stabbed through with fifteen long nails, set so that stepping on or pushing the line would send the branch into either the head, neck, or upper chest. It was a clever set up, Fox could admit. This asset had been the best, before it went rogue, and it would take more than a keen eye to track it down.

A bit more searching made the area seem less like a perimeter and more like a gauntlet of challenges. Alarms lead to branches, branches led to a scattering of pitfalls, pitfalls led to snares and a few small explosives. At last, the traps stopped, and in a tiny clearing that was still protected from above by the thick canopy it found the Rogue's camp, but not the rogue asset. A small ring of stones around a burned hole of ashes was set in the exact center of the clearing, with a drying rack of furs to one side. A pair of branches had been set in the ground, a string between them holding a line of fish over the flames. At the northernmost edge of the camp, two massive boulders had formed a sort of lean-to with a thick tree, and that sheltered space had been lined with the tarp and tent from the survival crate it suspected the Rogue had acquired before it left New York. A stack of furs had been layered over each other towards the back, where it was most protected from the elements, with the sleeping roll- again from the crate- folded neatly at one end. A duffle bag was tucked into a corner close to the makeshift bed. It suspected that the rogue had made sure there was an escape route near the bed, in case it needed a quick out.

Though careful not to touch anything, or leave any sign it had been there, Fox got right up to the edge of the... nest, it supposed the word would do. It smelled musty, with a tang of old blood and sweat, but underneath that was a distinct human scent. Still careful not to disturb anything, it pulled the bagged scrap of fabric from the pocket it had been stored in and tore the plastic open, bringing the scrap to it's face and scenting it. The human scent was easily identified. _Target acquired._

A leaf crunched beyond the edge of the tree line, and that was all the warning it could expect. Rather than wait for the Rogue to act, Fox spun and launched at the sound- and the under prepared rogue. Even after nearly two and a half weeks, the rogue's skills were top notch- it reacted to the attack quickly enough to avoid debilitating injury and throw Fox past it and into a tree. Fox rolled to it's feet and threw itself forth again, pulling a blade from it's sheath as it went, and the Rogue abandoned deflections in favor of quick dodging and quicker blows. Even moving faster, each hit packed power, and the ones Fox couldn't avoid ached, but it had been prepared for this- the mission file had stated the Rogue would not come quietly, and that it favored lethal attacks, in whatever forms were most readily available. But, even as Fox pulled out another blade for attacks, then a shock stick when the first blade was wrenched from it's grasp, the Rogue didn't cause any injures beyond bruises. Even as it calculated openings and points where it should prepare for potentially lethal attacks, the Rogue didn't take kill shots. It didn't register at first, but after the fight passed the two minute mark, it came up as a calculated varable- the rogue was actively avoiding debilitating or lethal attacks.

This was something it could use, it decided, and moved to a series of strikes that would leave no room for anything but a serious injury to counter. The calculations were right- The rogue hesitated for just a second when the opening came, and that was all it took. The shock stick came around and connected to the rogues exposed neck, and when the electricity locked it's muscles and dropped it to the dirt, Fox followed it down, keeping contact until the Rogues eyes rolled. _Target disabled. Call in for extract._

Fox wound nylon ropes around the Rogue to keep it disabled once it recovered from the shock, arms locked behind it and legs pulled tight together, then directed it's attention to the optical display, preparing a message for the extraction team, only for it to display an error message. _'No Signal.' _It would have to get closer to civilization to call in Extract, it decided, and with the sun already dropping towards the horizon, it wouldn't be able to navigate as effectively through the maze of traps, especially carrying the added weight of the rogue. They would have to stay in the camp until dawn.

It glanced around the camp once more, taking stock of everything around them and what weapons were lying about before focusing on the Rogue and waiting for it to recover enough to be mostly functional. It flicked it's gaze everywhere before focusing on Fox in return. Fox spoke first. "Status report."

The rogue stared. "Who are you?"

Fox narrowed it's eyes, both at the wording and the insubordination. "Relay Status report," It repeated.

The rogue twisted in it's bindings, then looked at Fox again. "How did you find me?"

Fox pursed it's mouth and glared. "Relay Status Report," it repeated in a growl, "Authorization Code- Pierce."

The rogue froze up for a moment, the wildness in it's eyes flickering away for a moment, and it opened it's mouth as if to answer before the wildness returned and it snapped it's jaw shut with a _snap. _"I'm not a Machine," it snarled.

Fox bared its teeth. "You are Asset File Seven, Winter Soldier Program, Asset listed as Assault and Threat Elimination Specialist. You are a weapon, and a Rogue Program, and you must be contained before harm comes to the general populace." It's voice was gritty and winded, as if it had been used little in a long time, but no less forceful and authoritative.

The Rogue sneered. "So you memorized my file? You know what they've got in yours?"

"Asset file Three, Foxhole Program, Asset listed as Strategy, Tracking and Containment Specialist. I am a weapon, low risk of programming failure or error, and must return you to Handlers As Ordered before continuing with secondary objectives. Relay Status Report, Asset. _Now_."

The rogue glared at it with a very human-like hate in it's eyes. Fox silently and internally determined that it's programming had erred far worse than was reported- the two of them, they were not _people, _and they were programmed to acknowledge that. They were weapons, and the highest quality or their kind. Rogue finally spat out, "Five hours since I last ate, ten since I last slept, Eighteen Days since I started fixing myself."

Fox stared it down. "Repairs were unauthorized and faulty. Efficiency?"

Rogue glared darker. "I could walk non-stop for about twelve hours before I had to stop. Give or take ten minutes for possible refueling."

"Damages?"

"I'm _fine,"_ Rogue hissed at Fox. "Better than I've been in years."

"Lying."

The Rogue went silent for a moment while Fox stirred the coals in the fire and added a small amount of wood. "...What?"

"You lied. I asked for damages- your arm is malfunctioning and your programming is scrambled. Mental state has declined since escape, Efficiency has deteriorated, Mission Effectiveness is failing. Unfit for deployment. Submit for maintenance." It was stated as a fact, because that was what it was, but the Rogue seemed to strongly disagree. It immediately tensed and started struggling against it's bindings again, trying to break the rope through brute strength, but the electric shock had done damage to it's mechanized arm, which was no longer responding. Fox grabbed it by the chin and turned it's face up. "Submit for maintenance or you will be disabled."

_"Go to hell!" _It spat, but after a few more seconds of fruitless struggling, it went limp in grudging submission. Fox wasted no time, promptly conducting a cursory search for any damages it hadn't noticed already, then moving to address the damaged arm. Fox had only been given cursory information on maintenance for the mechanics of it, enough to ensure that both assets could get to the extraction point without having to leave anything important behind, but it was enough to get the arm functional at the minimum.

The rogue didn't speak again.


	5. Chapter 5

The Rogue was consistently defiant of any maintenance after Fox repaired it's arm. It refused to accept fuel, and thrashed at any attempts to check for further damage. After the third attempt to treat a wound on it's side ended with Rogue attempting to kick it in the head, it allowed the detained asset to sit in silence. Come morning, it would have to force some sort of refueling, else risk the asset's condition deteriorating further, but for now, it wasn't necessary. Fox stirred the coals of the fire, and added a handful of the wood gathered off to the side to keep it burning. Every so often, the Rogue would writhe and wriggle in it's bonds for a few seconds before giving up again. After the fifth time checking the bonds for damage, Fox left Rogue to it. Perhaps it would tire itself out beyond defiance and make the next day easier.

As the sun started to sink out of sight and the darkness slowly crept in, the rustlings of animals nearby increased with nocturnal beasts rising and scuffling along and the last of the daywalkers scurrying for home. When a canine howled in the distance, Fox lifted it's gaze and scans the trees on instinct. When it came again, it hadn't gotten any closer, and though It relaxed some, It orders the Rogue into the makeshift den that it had created during it's hiding. Rogue didn't protest as much as It was expecting, and once settled Fox does a quick but thorough loop around the fixture, to be sure there are no surprises. There aren't.

Fox sat by the fire again, still waiting and ready to run at a moments notice, but as close to rest as it ever came during missions. The howls continued for a while, then stopped. Half an hour later, they returned, and closer. Fox tensed in the slightest and mentally checks its supply of weaponry.

"They won't come too much closer," the Rogue called from behind it. There was a faint echo to it from being surrounded by rock. "That's what I was taking care of before our fight. They won't get within a half mile."

Fox listened to another group howl before answering with "Acknowledged." When the howls returned again, even closer, It tilted it's head and howled back. The sound had a gravelly edge to it, like a growl under the noise, a threat under words, a knife under a pillow. It lasted exactly 12.4 seconds and cut off in a mockery of a yip. The woods around the camp went absolutely silent, and when sound returned it was more subdued. The next howl is more than three miles away and faded. Satisfied, Fox shifts out some of the ready tension and settles for the night.

Fox woke the Rogue at sunrise after extinguishing the fire. There was little to be done about the camp itself- if need be, it would report it to the handlers and they would deem if it was worth sending a clean-up team to remove all traces it had existed. The Rogue grumbled in a very accurate imitation of displeasure, and reported a need for fuel- "I ain't doin' shit unless I eat."- so Fox partitioned the two fish that had been hung near the now-dead fire and allowed the rogue enough leeway in the cord holding it's flesh arm to feed itself. As soon as breakfast was done, it was running all last minute necessities- clearing marks of it's personal presence, disposing of trash discreetly- and then hauling the rogue along by a grip on the disabled mechanized arm. There was enough light to navigate the traps, now, and no concern of triggering one in the dark, unable to counter or defend.

"So they gave you my file to track me down. Do they have files for all your targets?" The Rogue asked, as if they were companions on a friendly walk.

"Information limited. I am given what is necessary for mission completion." When Rogue made no move to follow it past a tripwire for one of the spiked branches, it yanked them along by the cord and continued without releasing its grip.

"Do they tell you why you're hunting the people they tell you to hunt?" It continued, amusement flickering in it's eyes. It wasn't concerned by being disabled, or forcibly led. For reasons it couldn't fully explain, that made it wary.

"No. Unneeded information, too much clutter to complete the mission efficiently. Information includes patterns, training, appearance, scent sample and kill/capture orders."

"So what, you're gonna pull me down the mountainside and camp out? Head back to Hydra with me in tow and let them shove you back in an icebox?" The last few words were almost spat at Fox's back in disgust.

"No." The Rogue jerked behind her ever so slightly. "Mission is not completed until secondary objective is captured or killed."

The Rogue was quiet for a few steps, then spoke again. "Who's the secondary objective?"

"Classified," Fox dropped in deadpan. Sharing mission objectives with targets was strictly prohibited.

Rogue dug it's feet into the topsoil, and the two of them nearly tumbled over from the change of momentum. Before Fox could snap orders, the Rogue said a single word, and abruptly every muscle in it's body stopped responding. It straightened and stood at attention, facing the Rogue and completely unable to move. The Rogue gave a sort of half-smile-smirk. "All Triggers are listed in the asset files. Do you know how many Hydra Cells I've taken down in the last week? Do you know how many files I've burned?" It took a couple steps closer, stopping only a foot away. "Who is the Secondary Objective?"

Fox tried to lock it's jaw- this was not a handler, not a superior, and sharing this information was not authorized- but the muscles moved anyways. "Secondary Objective, Steven Grant Rogers, codename Captain America, Capture Orders with minimal damage."

Rogue stared at It blankly for a moment, as if having trouble processing the information that it never should have gotten, then it's face twisted in rage. It pulled at the cord binding it again, and after only a second it snapped loudly. Fox noted the frayed ends faintly- that must have been the goal with all the struggling and writhing the night before- and only for a second before a shower of splinters burst from the side of a tree.

The Rogue's hand was bleeding, but it paid no attention to the damage, simply glaring at everything around it and snarling in Russian. Two minutes, twelve seconds later, it snapped at Fox. "Capture orders? They wanted to make him like us? Like you?" It snarled in Russian some more, then continued, "You don't even have the faintest idea what they do, do you? You don't have any idea what they did to you!"

"They created me, and they made me efficient, the same as you, even if our uses are separate," Fox managed to force out. It's programming was reacting to misuse, correcting the error. Good.

Rogue gave a mechanical, empty smile. "You really don't know." It turned away, running it's flesh hand through it's hair, and Fox used the distraction to test it's muscles. It's hands fisted easily, but trying to move it's arms past an inch sent a wave of errors through it's head. Rogue turned back around. "You never got to see your file, did you? No, they wouldn't have left that where you could get to it. But I've seen it. Seventeen Asset programs, and you and I are the only ones that didn't get scrapped. They kept those files very safe, wouldn't want anyone to know what they were doing to all the poor bastards they snatched right off the streets." It gave a sort of dry, humorless laugh, and Fox tested it's arms again- slightly more motion. "Did you know you were born in Albany, New York?"

Fox stopped trying to move. The simple statement rang in it's head, but not like the triggers did. The triggers rang like hollow sounds, like wind blowing over a rotted, hollow log. This rang harshly. The Rogue smirked when they made eye contact. "Did you know you had siblings? That some of their kids' kids are in school now?" The ringing got louder, with a side of a harsh, electric buzz. It wanted to shy away from the sound- when the buzz came, so did pain, so did punishment, reprogramming- but it couldn't retreat from it's own thoughts. "Did you know you wanted to be a soldier, back in the twenties? Did you know that your parents signed you away to a rehabilitation program, because they wanted you to act like a girl instead of getting into fights?"

_Stop_, It ordered, but the ringing just got louder until it almost couldn't hear the words the Rogue was saying.

"Do you know your name?"

Name. My name...

"Your name is Alice Donnover."

The ringing exploded into a crescendo, even as it jerked back, away from the Rogue, stumbling into a tree and clamping it's hands to the sides of it's head, as it to block out the sound, and them it wasn't just ringing and buzzing and the expectation of pain, but words- Words it knew it had spoken before. Words it had thought.

_My Name is Alice Donnover, I was born and raised in Albany, New York, I have two sisters one elder one younger, and an elder brother, and I was kidnapped for use in some government program. I might never see my parents again. I'll never see Fallon, I'll never see Marcus, I'll never see Nora. I'm on my own. They're taking my mind away. They can't take my name. My name is Alice. My name, Is Alice. My name is Alice my name is Alice my name is Alice my name is Alice_

It didn't know it was screaming. It didn't know it was thrashing so hard the Rogue was trying to pin it down and failing. It didn't know that it eventually cut off mid-scream and slumped to the ground. All it knew was that the ringing and the words had stopped, and now it had a blissful silence.


	6. Chapter 6

When Fox reached consciousness, it had a faint awareness that something was wrong. Something wasn't matching up right, something in it's brain not processing clearly. Some kind of programming error, it decided at last.

It took effort to get it's eyes to open, something it could not find records of having experienced before, and found itself covered in furs, staring up at a tarp- a tarp which, it recalled slowly, was used to waterproof a den under a pile of rocks. Trying to sit up- or, really, move in any way at all- resulted in an explosive headache that crippled it and had it dropping back to the fur-pile-bed with a whimper.

There were footsteps nearby, a rustle of the tarp. The scent was familiar- the Rogue. They must have been deliberately making noise, so it wouldn't startle. It tried to will itself to action- the Rogue need we to be contained, and brought in... to... who? The uncertainty stopped any attempts to do more than gets it's eyes open to track the rogue. It had rolled on it's side to clutch it's skull, it seemed. _Good. Better to see the entrance._

The Rogue made no sudden moves, or any attempts to seem more threatening than was typical, waiting until Fox had settled from looking at everything around them and then offering a bowl of what smelled like small-animal broth. Fox tried to reach for it, and immediately whimpered again at the painful throbbing that came back to it's skull in an instant.

Once it was clear that Fox wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, the Rogue moved closer, lifting it's shoulders up and bracing it there by kneeling behind it before bringing the bowl to it's mouth and forcing it to take a swallow or choke. It chose the less destructive path.

When the bowl was taken away, it was empty, and the pain seemed to have weakened, leading Fox to try sitting up again. It brought with it a wave of nausea and another shot of pain through it's skull, but it managed to get upright under it's own power- and stay there, so long as it didn't try to hold it's head up as well. Improvement, small though it was. Sounds buzzed in it's ears still, indistinct. The mild wind, the faint crackle of the small fire. A dull but warm rumbling it couldn't place, starting and stopping at random. The tarp crinkled as the Rogue moved behind it, and it focused on that- the Rogue was dangerous. There was no doubts or confusions about that.

The rumbling stopped again, then started again. A voice. Words. It honed in on the sound, immediately picking apart the sensory data. "-hear me at all? Say something. Come on, Alice, answer!"

It opened it's mouth to respond and made a choked sort of grunt. _Response not acceptable_-

"-ank god, I thought you checked out on me-"

It tried again with more success. "Presence... acknowledged." _Response acceptable_. "...System... Repairs needed. Programming error. Sensory data... Offset. Re-calibrations needed. System responses limited. Mission readiness at seventy-two percent, twelve percent above acceptable levels-"

"Stop it!" Fox immediately went silent, and after a moment, the Rogue shifted again, it's sounds moving around to Fox's front rather than it's back. "Alice, I need you to lift your head. Can you look at me?"_ Obedience required._ It lifted it's head, ignoring the stab of pain that shot from temple to temple at the movement, and kept it's gaze shifted to the Rogue's cheekbones. _Direct confrontation unauthorized- deference required. _The rogue swore, and Fox braced for discipline-

"How long do you have until you need to check in to HQ?" _Discipline not enacted. Continue with orders._

"Fourteen hours until checkpoint deadline."

"What are you expected to report?"

"Terrain search progress and mission status... Primary Objective... was complete." _Error. Objective Completed- not complete._

After a moment of silence, the rogue huffed loudly and focused on her again. "If I bring you into range so you can make the checkpoint, will you tell them that you found me?"

"Accurate reports are expected unless report information may compromise the mission."

"You have a new mission." _Receiving Orders. _"You and I both need to get to Stark-Avengers Tower in New York with minimal damage, and without being recalled by Handlers. Reporting Objective Completion will compromise the mission. Do you understand?" _Orders understood. Objectives changed- Mission updated._

"Understood."

* * *

Following protocol it had long before memorized was easy. The protocol directives didn't even appear on it's HUD, they had been so well ingrained. The Rogue was not a handler- that had been corrected very quickly, before Fox could even voice confirmation of a new handler- it was the superior asset for the mission. The Rogue was in charge, but not a handler. That was a new concept, but simple enough to add to it's protocol once it was explained. It was to follow orders

The Rogue was inconsistent. When giving orders and outlining Objectives, it wavered between certainty and clear directions and long stretches of nervous tittering and speaking aloud to itself. But it did, eventually, give Fox standing orders for whenever it wasn't able to direct the junior asset actively, and worked out of the tittering before it could impact the mission.

_First Objective- conduct repairs for both assets._ Rogue sat stiffly, watching Fox warily as it popped loose sections of armored plating to replace the fried wires that were preventing the arm from responding properly. Despite being in charge, it was expecting an attack. It registered, deep in it's brain, that it _should _be attacking, that it _should _be disabling the Rogue, but other than the knowledge that it should, it didn't know why. _Insufficient information, follow least destructive path of action._ It made the repairs as quickly as it was able, taking about an hour to ensure it was done right and wouldn't short-circuit in the middle of a battle, then quickly and easily replaced the removed plates and moved away to give Rogue room to test the mechanics. It asked if Fox was truly in need of repairs, which it denied. It was functional, and the damage that it had thought would need repairs when it reactivated had, for the most part, settled themselves. It still had a feeling of wrongness to what it was doing, everything tinged with a shade of doubt, but with not discernible cause for the shift it would have to adjust; there was no way the Rogue would know enough to make the necessary repairs when Fox had needed a direct download to understand how to repair the arm.

_Second Objective- Report in to HQ for Checkpoint._ Most of the camp was left behind- they took only the necessities, the food, water, the supplies they had gotten from the survival kit- and they wove through the traps, which the Rogue removed the triggers from, but did not disable entirely, all the way to the edge of the woodland that they had been immersed in. Only when the Rogue had obtained a vehicle was Fox given the go-ahead to relay it's false report, and as soon as it received the ping of acknowledgement they were packed into the vehicle and driving away.

_Third Objective-_ ... It didn't understand the third objective. The Rogue had given it a single cryptic sentence to apply- _let it sink in_\- and then it was left to sit silently. Let _what_ sink in? But the Rogue refused to reply to any attempts to gain elaboration.

They had been driving well into the night when it realized what that strange feeling of _wrong _had come from.

"I remembered."


	7. Chapter 7

_"I Remembered."_

The words came out so suddenly it had to say them again before it really understood- it _had_ remembered, the loud ringing and the echoing voice that sounded so much like it's own, memories of a time so long ago it wasn't sure that wasn't another life entirely, that those memories didn't belong to it, all flooding it's mind so fast it couldn't think. It had remembered... but now it couldn't. Anything beyond the mission start- no, anything before it had been brought online for the mission briefing, was inaccessible. It was as if the memories didn't exist except in that overwhelming burst.

The Rogue was speaking. "I know. It's a lot to go through, and it's scary, but it's alright-"

"No," it started, "I mean I _did _remember."

"And I do understand. It happened to me too. But it'll settle in a few hours, once you accept it-"

"No, You misunderstand. I _did _remember. I _remembered._"

The Rogue was irritated now, gesturing with it's right hand in emphasis. "You need to calm down. Trust me, I know how it feels-"

_"No_!" It's programming snapped at it for the outburst, demanding that it submit for discipline, but it was malfunctioning, and it punched the dashboard hard enough to crack the cover. "I _Did _Remember. I _don't _now. It's _Gone!"_

The words were barely out of it's head before old programming slamed full-force on the rebellion, and after a few seconds of awkward jerking, hands flicking up to it's head at the spark of pain then away, it defaulted to submission. Hands crossed at the wrist, palms to the floor, bent as low as it could get while seated in the vehicle, head stiff with it's chin to it's chest.

The rogue slammed on the brakes- it swore when Fox's head hit the already cracked dashboard, but the asset didn't respond- and leaned over, pushing it back upright with one hand, then gripping it's chin to make it look up. "_Don't_," he hissed. "Don't you _ever_ treat me like I'm a handler. I'm not your master, or your handler, and you're_ not_ a weapon! You're a _person_, goddammit, and I won't stop until you know it! Do you understand me?"

Fox didn't flinch, even though the young, frightened corner of it's mind said that was a really good idea, but it couldn't give the rogue the answer it was clearly looking for. It _didn't_ understand- of _course_ it was a weapon, that was what it had been made for, designed for. It wasn't a _person_, because people had emotions, and connections, and made choices. It was not a person, and it had the programming to prove it, so _no,_ it _didn't_ understand. Something of that must have shown on it's face, because the fingers on it's chin loosened, then dropped away.

The rogue rubbed a hand over it's face the way handlers did when they were tired. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm not the best person for this. I shouldn't... I don't know how to help you. Or me. That's why we need to get to the Tower. They can fix this. Just... I'm sorry."

It shifted gears on the car and they started down the road again. Fox sat in silence, trying to integrate what had just happened. The rogue had... apologized? To the asset? That didn't make any sense- _Fox_ should be apologizing, submitting for discipline for failure to show appropriate respect and allowing a system glitch to compromise it's skillset. The rogue had done nothing to warrant an apology.

Miles passed beneath the tires of the acquired car.

* * *

The ride took twenty-seven hours to get to the block Stark-Avengers Tower dominated, traveling directly and as fast as the Rogue dared. They circled the block, both scanning the area, then Rogue drove a few blocks away and pulled into an alleyway. They left the battered old car in a flaming wreck and moved out. Fox relayed the calculations and observations it's mind spit out, and the rogue did the same, quietly enough that no one would be able to catch what they were saying. They circled the tower twice, fading with the crowds and keeping their faces low to avoid detection, then settled in a cafe across the street from the front doors.

They sat in silence, drinking bad coffee, and Fox waited for orders, or for Rogue to start laying out a plan. They needed into the tower- people were traveling in and out of the tower at rapid paces. They could fade with the crowd and sneak in, in broad daylight, something they wouldn't see coming. Or they could wait for dark. The two of them were highly trained, and odds were good that they could infiltrate the building and get what they needed without being detected. It held on to the various plans it's mind conjured, waiting for permission to speak, waiting for Rogue to finish whatever preliminary analysis it needed to work through and give the order.

Rogue tapped the fingers of it's metal hand on the side of it's travel cup in a constant rhythm, interrupted only when it downed a swallow and picking up again the moment the paper touched the table top. Five minutes passed, then ten. Twenty. Thirty.

At last, Rogue tipped the cup upside-down and finished off the coffee they'd been served, dropped a handful of bills on the table and jerked it's head to signal Fox to follow. It pulled up it's hood, shouldered through the door and crossed the road, straight for the doors of the tower, Fox trailing exactly a step behind and a half step to the right, flanking. No one glanced at them twice as they wove through the crowd, ducked through the doors and walked determinedly towards the elevators on the other end of the lobby. Fox's senses tripped into overdrive, processing the people around them and the floor plan and how anything and everything around them could be used to their advantage- or disadvantage- in case of a battle.

The elevator sealed them in, but Rogue didn't push any buttons, instead standing there in silence, as if waiting. Fox took up position at it's left now, both turned around to face the now closed doors.

"Good Afternoon, Sargent Barnes." Fox tensed further at the disembodied voice, eyes flickering around for a speaker or a camera. "I assume you have a reason for coming here? Are you looking for the Captain?"

"We need to speak with Stark."

The british man didn't reply for a long minute- one minute, twenty-two seconds. Then the elevator started to glide along it's tracks. "Sir has agreed to see you on the condition that there are guards around in case 'shit hits the fan.'"

The doors opened, and an entire team of men and women armed with high-tech weaponry and dressed in strong-looking boy armor was waiting for them, with a red-haired woman and a man with a gotee standing between them, several feet away. The man smiled, spreading his arms. "Welcome to mi casa," he greeted. "Now, before we get any further, I'm going to need you to do me a favor and hand over any and all weaponry you're carrying. Right now."

Rogue had no hesitations, taking two steps foreward- Fox followed automatically- and pulling out weapon after weapon and setting them on the floor beside and in front of itself, not so much as twitching when a pair of the guards took all of them away in handfuls.

Fox stood frozen, half waiting for direction and half glitching, unable to reason out what Rogue could have planned, until the man spoke again. "What about you, princess? You going to play nice, or should we stick you in the elevator until we're done out here?"

Before it could respond, Rogue turned just enough to make eye contact and silently commanded obedience. "Asset, discard all weaponry."

It stood frozen for a second longer, then started unstrapping. The hoodie it had been wearing since mission start was dropped unceremoniously on the floor, then each of the four holsters on it's torso were unbuckled and shrugged and twisted off, set on the floor just more then arms reach away, followed by the blades tucked into it's undershirt- both pulled out carefully so the sharp sides faced it, towards it's arms, before being set on the floor as well. Then two small caliber guns strapped to it's thighs, falling off holsters and all with a few quick snaps, the knives tucked under the sleeves of it's forearms, the small emergency throwing knives pulled out of it's shoulder padding one at a time and held in hand by the blades until they were taken away, the shock sticks and tazer that had hung from it's belt like charms on a bracelet, and finally it's boots were taken off completely and pushed forward with it's toes.

The man looked impressed. "I'm not sure how you had enough surface area to store all of that, but good job. Alright, so, I know for a fact that you were hiding from us," he directed the end towards Rogue, and Fox shifted it's feet carefully against the extraordinarily squishy carpet. "What brings you here, in the middle of the day?"

"We need to take down HYDRA, and we can't do it alone. She needs help deprogramming and readjusting." Rogue hesitated then, after a moment adding, "And we've got some tech you need to look at." It nodded to Fox, continuing, "she's expected to send a report of mission progress to her last handlers every seventy-two hours, with two hours leeway. We've got less than forty-eight hours left until the next checkpoint-"

"Forty-one hours, thirty-six minutes," Fox intoned.

"-and we need to find some way to cut off communication before then, so they can't force her to obey any further missions. You're the only person I know of who could both do this and keep her safe until it's done."

The man frowned, scratching his chin and looking them both over skeptically. "Hm... Alright. I'll do it, only because I'm really curious about the tech they've got jammed in her head." He spun on his heel and started walking. "Spiderwoman, escort them to my lab."

The red haired woman smiled, a predatory quirk of her lips, and waved an arm. "After you."

Rogue followed after the man, and Fox fell into step beside it.


	8. Chapter 8

**wow. i've been gone a while, yeah? I don't have any excuses. I mean my depression got p bad along the way, but. yeah. sorry.  
also oh my god thank you to everyone who didn't just completely GIVE UP ON ME IM SORRY**

The female was trained. Intensively, in fact possibly in a similar manner to the standard training Fox and Soldier assets had received before being cleared for use. It was easy to detect; she tried to walk "pretty," like a civilian, but her footing was too steady. Too precisely casual. And her neck was tense, belaying the tension in other major muscle groups. She hadn't let her guard down since the assets had entered the building. She was always ready for a fight to break out. Idly, Fox ran calculations on a fight between them; results inconclusive.

The male, however, was decidedly not trained- or, if he was, then in a very casual form of it. He talked a lot, though, even as he walked, leading the group through the labyrinth of hallways, and it made the tension in his frame stand out, his gait awkward and long like he was forcing himself not to move slowly. Fear, it assumed rather confidently. Not an unusual reaction to the presence of as asset, but in this case, unnecessary. The other asset was also tense- shoulders drawn tight, thighs twitching. A flight-leaning sympathetic response. Fox itself was, in fact, the only one not ready for a fight. As it was under orders not to engage even if attacked first, there was no need.

Secondary systems were still active, including a mapping subroutine tracking the way out and a battle-prep that was analyzing everything in the environment for potential battle use and hazard, when the male stopped, turned to a wall panel and waved at it until it slid open- a hidden door. It made note and added possible locations of similar rooms to the map in its hard drive.

"If there's one thing Hydra did half-decent on, its technology and biomechanics. Not as good as what I could do, but good enough that I'm very excited to get a good up-close-and-personal look at it." He babbled on as he gestured for them to follow him in. Soldier went first, and the female made no move to enter herself, so Fox moved forward. It had barely gotten a step into the room when a sudden glitch sent a jolt through its systems. Its frame locked up, no longer responding to directions, and then the lab was gone, replaced with a grainy video clip.

_She was breathing fast, too fast, but she was so scared, so utterly terrified that she couldn't even summon the idea of slowing it down. There were soldiers- not real soldiers, she refused to believe these were the men defending her country, but they walked like them and acted like them- Four soldiers, one holding each of her limbs and carrying her like a carcass as she thrashed. She screamed at them, but her throat hurt so so bad, and it was barely an airy breath. It did more damage to her than to them, and once they'd slammed her on a metal slab and tightened straps down so much she could barely feel her fingers, one of them wrenched her jaw open as wide as it would go so another could shove a rubber bit in her mouth._

_It was suffocating her even before the men in labcoats came, snapping orders to secure her more- tight straps on her ribs, her shoulders, her hips and knees, then her head, trapping her face against the icy steel so she couldn't even wiggle. Or maybe it was just the fear that was choking her, the fear of this place, of the pain she knew they would bring, of when they would finally end it all and just kill her, let her die instead of dragging her out when she'd nearly lost her mind and hurting her again-_

_They closed in on her, drawing on her shaved head and arguing over her face, ignoring her half-hearted whimpers and whines. At the sound of something whirring noisily, she struggled again, the last dregs of a near constant adrenaline rush. All it earned her was an elbow to the sternum and the loss of any breath she could have screamed with as a circular bone saw revved near her ear and bit into her temple, cutting into her skin, into the bone, sending blood into her eyes and over her face-_

_**My name is Alice. I was born in Albany, New York, and I've been kidnapped by some government team for- I don't know what.**_

_**My name is Alice.**_

_**My name**_

**::Oxygen intake insufficient. Increase ventilations immediately.::**

It sucked in a massive breath the same instant the notification appeared on it's HUD, and another glitch sent its systems haywire, throwing it back into the hallway and clear into the wall, where it slid to the floor, ventilating rapidly and running an emergency systems check to reactivate it's navigational systems. Visuals reset first, showing the other asset crouched in front of it like a guard with some mock-up of concern on it's face. Next came gyroscopics, stopping it's frantic grasp on the floor to keep it steady, then directional alignment, and audio(the male was still babbling, and the voice from the elevator adding commentary- what sounded like vital signs). Last to online was motion control, cleared of coding mishaps, but it didn't test that analysis just yet.

The other asset was speaking. It reset audio again to make out the words. "-hear me? Fox- Can you hear me? Respond!"

"Affirmative." It's optics flickered about, noting the changes in the environment- the female was watching them cautiously, back almost touching the wall opposite them. The male was in the lab, gesturing wildly as he spoke to the voice from the elevator. "Forced System Reset initiated. Cause unknown."

Soldier tensed visibly. "Is there any possibility it could have been Hydra?"

"Negative. No signals received or sent. Cause: Internal."

The same tension disintegrated and it's shoulders slouched just an inch. "Are you alright?"

Without pause, Fox brought up a status window on it's HUD and read it off, finishing with "All Systems within normal ranges."

Soldier nodded, seemingly fixated on Fox's right eye. "What happened?" It started to repeat the earlier diagnosis- Forced system reset with unknown cause- but Soldier flapped it's hand. "Not that, I mean in your head. What happened? What did you see? What did you remember?"

_Fear Yellow Pain _"No memories recovered."

There was a pause, then- "Is it like what happened in the woods?"

It's vision filled with static for a moment,(_fear choking __**pain**_) and it flinched backwards, blinking. "Yes."

Soldier sighed, then offered it a hand up. "Come on. Stark needs to get to work on that tech before Hydra finds us." It accepted the assistance and, once it was sure it was steady, moved into the lab. There was no jolt to its systems this time, only a vague sense of foreboding, and it followed Stark's directions to stand in a certain area.

"Alright, before we get started, I need to know about trackers. Anything on you putting out a signal, receiving a signal, or potentially will put out a signal?" Stark eyed both assets as he talked, waving his hands to bring up a holographic display in front of them.

Soldier looked to Fox. "No trackers Currently active. Three inactive chips installed, one issued but not present. Locations; Boot Insert track chip, requires manual activation, for use in emergency where asset is damaged beyond ability to complete an assignment or unable to reach extraction point. Subdermal Pelvic track chip, activated remotely by handlers and superiors with authorization codes, for use if asset does not report at designated checkpoint. Scapular intraosseous track chip, activated remotely by superiors with authorization code, for use if asset does not report at designated checkpoint and pelvic chip is non responsive. Intracranial HUD chip, intended for use by asset for tracking, mapping, navigation, and timekeeping, but can be accessed remotely in an emergency with authorization."

Stark's eyes lit up, and his face twisted with excitement. "Intracranial HUD? You mean they successfully installed hardware in your brain and you are capable of interacting with it at will?" It nodded, not bothering to correct him- it didn't have a brain, brains were human constructs, but it was close enough regarding function that he obviously understood reasonably well. He smiled wide. "Sounds like a challenge. I love challenges." He waved his hands a bit more, calling out to 'Jarvis' to "take a scan of them both and get ahold of that one doc I like, I know mechanics not biology."

The holographics moved about at his commands, and it assumed that this 'Jarvis' was a sort of working name for the intelligence system he was running- similar to Asset 3's listed title 'Foxhole Program' shortened to a working name of Fox, or Asset 7's 'Winter Soldier Program' shortened to Soldier. A beam of light was emitted from some projector on the ceiling, and a scant few seconds later disappeared and brought up a new hologram shaped similarly to Fox, side-by-side with a figure shaped similarly to Soldier. Stark looked over them both fleetingly and started babbling, talking about biomechanics and neuroreception and throwing out 'holy shit' every now and then. The female stayed near, but out of the way, muscles still coiled like she was ready to pounce.

After about twenty minutes of talking to himself and the AI, and putting up designs on various holoprojectors, another male joined them, this one dressed in scrubs and a white coat. Stark addressed him blandly and they began collaborating, all the while leaving the assets to stand by and wait for further direction. Soldier was restless beside it, constantly shifting it's weight and glancing around or rubbing at something or another. In contrast, Fox stood near perfectly still, only the slight rise and fall of it's thorax breaking it's facade of a statue.

The two men continued to discuss the findings in the scans for nearly an hour before asking for an updated time until checkpoint. Then, finally they turned to face the assets.

"Alright, Bucky-Bear, you seem pretty concerned about the princess here, and it seems that you're in a better place anyways, so we're going to get to work on digging out the trackers first before we try to take a crack at the wires in her head. We're going to need you and Spiderwoman on standby incase some conditioning tries to kick in during the process so us less assassin-y types don't get slammed. Once we get her in the clear, I can take a look at your arm and do what I can for it. Fair?"

Soldier agreed quickly, and the trio had a short, very quiet exchange before they all turned their focus to Fox. The asset stood as still as it had before. Soldier moved to stand directly in front of it, and it lifted its gaze from the neutral point near its clavicle to it's face in acknowledgement. It's face was serious, and when it spoke, so was its tone. "You are not to harm anyone in this building until Stark himself gives you a target-" Here it stumbled, as if it's coding told it not to continue but it did anyways- "Authorization code: Black Light. Acknowledge."

"Affirmative."

"You will follow every direction given to you as immediately as is physically possible until you are authorized otherwise by Stark or Operative Black Widow. Acknowledge."

"Affirmative."

Now the senior asset's voice shook, and it noticed faintly that it's shoulders had gained only the slightest shiver to them. "Any coding that tries to defy the orders I have just given you is not to be followed. If coding directs you to something that defies these orders. You are to initiate immediate shut down. And restart under Docile conditions. Acknowledge."

"Affirmative."

It stared at Fox for a long moment before ordering, "Repeat current assignment."

"Obey all directives given until authorized further autonomy by Operative Black Widow or Stark. Cause no harm to anyone within the compound unless and until specifically directed by Stark with appropriate authorization code. On activation of any coding contradicting these orders initiate immediate shut down set for restart under reprogramming settings. All orders acknowledged and confirmed. Awaiting direction."

Soldier made a face of disgust and turned away. "Get up on the table so they can pull those trackers out."

It obeyed, as directed. Stark and the unnamed doctor shared only a short back and forth before the holographic image similar to Fox appeared again, levitating over the real Fox for a moment before lowering to nearly sit on it's frame like a reference to its insides. In the edge of its vision it caught a glow from lower on it's frame- once the doctor spoke again, it determined it was a guide to where the subdermal tracker was.

"Anesthesia?"

"Won't work," Soldier cut in before Fox had to answer. "She's got an earlier version of the knock-off super-serum I was dosed with. Slightly less upgrades, but it still neutralizes any kind of medication, painkillers, anesthetics and alcohol included."

A noise of irritation, then "I'm going to make an incision on the inside of your pelvic girdle to retrieve the tracker. I need you to keep still as best you can, alright?"

"Affirmative."

A few seconds later, a cold edge pressed into the flesh almost directly over the tracker, a half second later it gave way with a vague sting. A popup flashed on it's HUD warning of damage taken, which was blinked away with passive acknowledgement as it held perfectly still save for it's ventilations. The blade dug in only a few centimeters at a time, until the doctor finally took a pair of forceps into the opening and slowly, carefully worked the tracker out, then just as carefully packed the wound with gauze. The tech clattered a bit when it was dropped into a tin for Stark to take, and a moment later it was directed to sit upright.

"Intraosseous, eh? It won't be fun, but I'll get it out. I'll need you to change out of that top- give me a moment and I'll grab you a gown."

It obeyed silently, taking the bundle of papery disposable coverings and moving off to a designated corner of the lab to pull off the uniform top and undertank, replacing it with the gown, returning to the slab and laying facedown to give the doctor access to the scapula.

Again, he gave a warning before he started, and the vague awareness of damage was punctuated by three separate pop-ups warning it of increasing damage, each of them blinked away as they arrived. It could see Stark poking at the little piece of tech already pulled out- a small, half-inch-square chip, rather like a harddrive piece. He was rigging it to some sort of reader, lines of coding appearing on a nearby screen.

The doctor gave a hard pull, and it's shoulder jerked slightly with the motion. A moment later he gave another pull, and it felt something detach from the scapula. Then pressure was applied to the area, and the second tracker clinked into a tin like the first.

"That's two of three." He wrapped a length of fabric around its shoulder and across its chest and back to keep dressings over the incision, while Stark continued to babble about deprogramming and firewalls. Once both the incisions were dressed to the doctor's satisfaction, it was directed to lie down again.

"So, how did Hydra usually access your HUD? I assume they did interact with it, didn't they?" Stark prodded at a holographic, carrying it over to the side of the slab that it was stationed on.

"Orders delivered wirelessly through Hydra/SHIELD digital mainframe or face-to-face interaction. Maintenance and debugging performed through cranial connection ports. Real-time communication-"

"Wait. Back up." Stark waved his hand, face scrunching in disbelief. "Did I hear that right? Cranial connection port? You have a- a computer connecter hole in your skull?"

It met his gaze evenly, though with a bit of annoyance. It had thought he understood the concept of humanoid mechanisms, but it seemed now that he was operating under the assumption it was actually _human._ "Affirmative. Programming errors are not uncommon and some system glitches cannot be corrected through system reset and must be debugged or troubleshot manually. Programmers needed easy access to the hard drives without taking the asset completely out of play."

His face twisted again, now looking pursed and unhappy. "...I'm not sure if I'm more impressed or disgusted by this revelation. Where are they?"

It turned it's head to the left, digits of one hand passing through it's hair to push it out of the way while the other hand felt along it's scalp to locate the three ports in line with its optical array. It moved it's hand out of his way when he leaned in to see more clearly, and obediently kept still when he very lightly prodded at them. It was well aware he couldn't damage the ports just poking- several programmers had shoved and smacked them on multiple occasions, and the only damage ever done was when they had disconnected by simply yanking out the cord and causing a cascade failure in its coding that had taken another programmer three hours to sort through and correct. They'd all been very careful to properly close the connection after that incident, and it had operated fairly smoothly ever since.

"This is fucked up. Why didn't you say anything about this?" He sounded honestly offended, and it was briefly uncertain if that had been meant for it to answer, though Soldier replied instead.

"What, you think I know everything they did to her? Was I supposed to do a detailed investigation of all her modifications? Sorry, I was a little busy trying to get us somewhere we wouldn't get captured by what's left of those god damn maniacs!"

Stark huffed but didn't reply, apparently returning to his investigation of the ports. "Looks like a parallel port here… PS/2… a fucking HDMI port. Did these have different purposes?"

"Simple troubleshooting uses PS/2 port to connect to an external computer. HDMI was intended for observation of HUD changes, but can also be used to modify sensory intake displays. Parallel used for large-scale reprogramming efforts."

He made another dissatisfied noise. "...Keep your hair out of the way until we're plugged in."

It stayed there as directed for seventeen minutes while Stark hunted through drawers, making all kinds of ruckus, until he returned with a handful of cords and rolled a computer on a cart closer to the slab. Each cable brought with it a sort of fuzzy, staticky feeling, and it's HUD gave notifications of each connection and asked if it wished to activate firewalls. It responded with denial each time. The room was quiet enough that when the data appeared on the screen it clearly heard them both make noises of amazement. Stark was talking fast again, out of sight now, and it calmly closed every notification window as it opened.

It heard keys tapping, and a small text window opened in the lower edge of it's vision. _Can you read this? _"Affirmative." More tapping, then- _Can you reply on the display?_

_Affirmative._

"This is Incredible. It's a Miracle. They shouldn't have had the technology to make this happen- trying should have killed her. Just. JARVIS, give me a display of what the inside of her skull looks like. How much tech is in there? What parts of her brain is it replacing or- melted into?"

There was more key tapping, and it felt power being diverted as several systems cycled down to idle- Stark must have accessed its actual programming; security precautions to prevent overheating of it's CPU and to keep any alterations from affecting or being affected by less essential systems running to actively. It's vision dimmed slightly, the HUD gaining solidarity as visual input cycled down as well, and the text window closed out to open instead a coding window. It knew the function of several strings of code as they scrolled past, but much of it had no meaning to it- background operations and functions, GPS, mapping functions, passive situation analysis programming. Stark mumbled, and it registered the exact moment he started trying to alter small sections of code- an alert window opened that took up almost it's entire HUD, and basic system security measures kicked in, throwing up layers of firewall that it had initially deactivated manually. It's frame locked up, and it briefly felt a couple of systems stutter almost into failure they'd cycled through modes so quickly.

Loud noises. Pressure on its thorax, then it's cranium. Visuals cut out entirely, it's HUD throwing up various reports on the status of sensitive information and important flashing windows warning it of an attempted hack, and when the background image flickered back it vaguely recognized the shape of… the other asset?

More loud noises, something beeping angrily. Pressure registered on it's arms, just under it's shoulder struts, and it registered being moved slightly. Words.

"Fuck, say something! What's happening, Alice?! Alice!"

**::terminology- "what's happening" phrase recognized- orders issued- relay status report; relay system information; relay alert history- origin; senior asset for mission- obedience required::**

It's vocals sputtered with a choked noise, and as it successfully started relaying all the information flooding it's HUD in order of importance it's visuals continued to flicker, sometimes resetting entirely and going black for several seconds at a time. "Hack attempted; security passcode: false; attempted access to restricted coding: access denied: firewalls fully operational: security measures active; lockdown protocols initiated 22 seconds ago; system shutdown imminent; protect data at all costs; several systems nonresponsive; coding reset necessary: submit for maintenance procedures-"

"Fox, listen to me- can you override the shutdown? Damn it- Fox! Stay conscious!"

"-reset… override protocols active, passcode required… I… I don't… know… subroutines failing… s-systems locked, data unavailable, crash possible… initiate emergency shutdown to prevent system damage…"

"Fox! Damn it! Stark, _do something! _It's fucking code, hack it or something!"

"We don't know what's going to happen if I go at those firewalls! Even Jarvis can only work so fast, I don't know how much of this coding is controlling essential body functions, like, her fucking heartbeat, or her breathing! I fuck this up and she's a vegetable for the rest of her life!"

"You do nothing and she's going to fucking die!"

"I'm going as fast as I can! I can't- what the fuck is she saying?! Is that still system errors?!

_My name is Alice, I was born in Albany, New York, I have two sisters and a brother, I've been kidnapped for some kind of government experiment… it's so cold, I can't feel my hands,_

"Alice! Alice, you have to fight this! Fuck- stay awake!"

_They're coming back, I already hurt so much, god make it stop, please make it stop_

"Stark!"

"Yelling at me doesn't make this go any faster!"

Hack detected; access denied; firewalls under attack; initiate emergency shutdown

"FOX DO NOT SHUT DOWN!"

_just kill me please, get it over with, don't hurt me anymore please please please kill me just fucking kill me_

"Bring in the emergency equipment!"

firewalls under attack- initiate shutdown failed- initiate counter measures

"I've almost got it!"

_it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts god it hurts make it stop make it stop please not the chair make it stop_

"Get a life support system in here!"

_my name is alice my name is alice my name is alice my name is alice my name is alice_

Stark broke through the firewalls, and in less than a second Jarvis was copying all of the coding to an external device.

Fox's eyes shot open, unseeing, and it's back arched clear off the table as it's systems tried to forcibly eject the foreign programming. Alice screamed.

Barnes released his grip on her now slightly bruised shoulders to give the doctor room.

Starks monitor had just barely finished displaying all of the coding copied from her implant when the screen displaying the coding still in the implant went completely blank.

Fox/Alice's vitals monitor flatlined.


	9. Chapter 9

He'd seen a lot of horrible things, being a soldier in World War Two to start and a Hydra Experiment to boot- Hell, he'd done plenty of horrible things as the Winter Soldier, and even before he'd been captured he'd done things that made it a little harder to sleep. He'd seen people die, at his hands and standing beside him and strapped to tables with drills and needles in their bodies. But, thinking back on them all, he didn't think any of them had given him such a sense of horror as he got then- was she really even Alice anymore? Was she only the asset? Was she neither?- watching her seize and scream and kick uselessly at nothing and finally just go limp and still with the vitals monitor blaring angrily in the background.

The doc immediately started chest compressions, no doubt having plenty of training for situations like- well, probably not like this, but similar enough. Stark was swearing and typing and running programs- simulations maybe- running through all the coding he'd ripped out of her skull. Meanwhile, he just stood by, watching Natasha speed around the lab with supplies before they were needed.

The doctor swore, attempted to force air into her lungs, and swore again when he tried more chest compressions. "I can't get any depth! Jarvis, is there reinforcement in her ribcage?"

"Scans showed an unidentified, non-metallic substance in 64% of her skeletal system. It's likely providing some strength to her ribcage as well."

"Barnes, Take over!"

It felt like autopilot when he folded his hands over her sternum and started pushing. The world on autopilot. He could see the difference between his compressions and the doctors- he was honestly concerned he was pushing too hard, but the doc snapped at him when he tried to ease up, so he pressed her ribs in further than he was comfortable with and didn't stop until he was told, and Natasha squeezed a bag to push more air into her, then he was pushing again.

He felt something under his hands pop, a few compressions later felt a sickening snap, and he still heard Stark swearing in the background. Compressions, pause, breathe, compressions.

Stark shouted, rather suddenly, something 'download it now,' and a few compressions later Fox/Alice siezed again, coughing violently, and he yanked his hands away.

Her legs flexed randomly, like she was looking for grip on the tabletop, and her head swung around a bit despite the cables still hooked into her skull, like she was waking up groggy and confused and still coughing sporadically. The doc shined a flashlight at her eyes and she flailed, jerking away from the light and only managing a light slap to his arm, far from the trained and lethal asset he'd brought along with him from the asscrack of nowhere.

"Stark, what've you got?" He heard someone ask.

"Essentials. Jarvis and I managed to separate most of the background programming into essential and nonessential, though I can promise if she tries to do much of anything she's gonna cause god knows how many cascade failures. All the coding is tied together, everything operates together, and cutting out anything is gonna take hours of reprogramming and testing to make sure the whole system still functions. She's got just about nothing in there right now- I think we isolated bodily functions, but there's probably other shit in there that's just tied in too deep to pick apart on short notice, and almost definitely something missing that'll make it hard to talk to her."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Natasha. "So, to say what's on everyone's mind- this is so far beyond what we expected we have almost no idea what we're doing anymore." No one looked at her, or really answered. "A few things haven't changed. We need to know Hydra can't use any of her trackers to find her, or us. We need to know what happened to her. We need to know how to keep everyone safe from her- and her safe from everyone, and herself. Apparently they managed to wire the tech into her vital systems- Why? And How? Obviously there's something in that coding they didn't want anyone to see."

"Bad enough they'd kill her to keep it safe. If it wasn't Jarvis, we wouldn't have gotten the download finished before it all wiped."

"But you did get it all. Look for anything that doesn't fit. Anything that isn't a program or operation- something that doesn't need to be run."

"I'll see what I can do while I'm hunting down all the vitals killswitches."

"Barnes, you got her this far. You certainly hit a lot of Hydra bases. What did you find on her?"

"Not much. A basic folder, like a reference file. It didn't have a lot of details, but it had trigger words, killswitch passes, access codes." He thought for a moment, then added, "I thought they meant for her digital files, which are probably a lot more thorough, but if she's literally got a computer in her brain, they might have been meant for her. If we could get into the Hydra file on her, they might have more detailed records of the coding they used, probably more on what kind of things they did to her."

"I'll dig through everything that got dumped on the internet, see what I can dig up. Reference for Foxhole Program, right?" He nodded, and she continued. "What about this reinforcement on her skeleton? What do we know about that?"

"It's not organic, but it doesn't register as any kind of metal. There's only so much Jarvis can pick up in a scan, and I'm really not big on the idea of cutting into her bones for a sample. It's non conductive, probably to protect it from causing damage they couldn't repair when they shocked her. Relatively lightweight, best guess it's only adding maybe twenty pounds to her weight. Mainly on the parts of her skeleton that would take a beating- forearms, shins, spine, ribs, and skull. Maybe to make up for what the serum lacked in power?"

"Barnes, you can help me search the publicized Hydra files; keep an eye out for anything that relates to nonmetallic compounds or that mentions the Foxhole Program. And she said that they can access the cranial HUD and use that GPS- is there anything you can do to lock them out? Or block her from transmitting or receiving?"

Stark shrugged, huffing out a heavy breath that wasn't quite a sigh. "An isolation room would be safe and the most easy to establish, but I don't know how fast I can get equipment set up in there, and if she crashes again I'll need to have it within a minute or we'll risk serious trauma. We could make the lab isolated but it'll be the difference between a smokescreen and a steel wall at first. Long term, I'll have to break down the firewalls and reinstate new passcodes for access to the system, but that could take hours, could take a month, could be anywhere in between."

"We'll get some of your geniuses in R&amp;D to help get the tech set up in an iso and move her as soon as it's prepped. In the meantime, Barnes and I will work from the lab hunting down her files in case we need to intervene while you do what you can with the coding and tech. Doc, We'll need you nearby in case something happens."

"Won't be my first stay at the tower, Miss Romanoff." The doctor gave a dull half-smile as he continued checking over Fox. "Mr. Stark knows that I am always on retainer."

"Alright, Super-Scouts, lets get out there and do our best."

_Why is it so short? Because I'm a terrible person and Depression is a terrible monster._


End file.
